OC character description
by Fenris's Slytherin Princess
Summary: I was just playing about with description, and came up with this- my OC's! (All using default names, sorry!) Characters have been shipped, and I will get on to writing more at some point, but this is classed as 'complete' for now!


She stood there, Lyna Mahariel. Though young, hair was pure white, and her hands constantly dirtied from hunting and working. Barely an adult, and Maya Marhiel saved Thedas from a blight. Her silver locks were tied into a tight bun, with two strands brushing down to her cheek bones. Her face was gaunt, with each feature more prominent than the last. Her forehead was pulled tight by her hair and her blood writing was a deep red, marking the symbol of the hunt. Her large, green eyes set firmly bellow a pair of trimmed eyebrows. Her nose was slightly crooked, but fairly small, and her lips were in a constant from, and constantly pink from getting her way. Her Dalish armour displayed her toned middrift, and a set of hardened biceps. Though muscular, her figure was feminine; she had small, firm breasts, and a slim stomach; her legs were defined yet strong. In one hand, Maya held an ironbark bow, made by her clan's craftsman. The bow was taller than she was, depsite being quite tall for an elf. She stood tall and proud, with her spare hand resting on a wolf as white as her own hair.

Next to Maya, was Darrian Tabris, a city elf with a passion for injustice. Against his slightly sunburnt skin, his pale lips formed a quirked smile. Long eyelashed grew around his deep, brown eyes, which were framed by thick, black eyebrows. His curled hair was cut short and kept neat by Lyna, one of the only Warden's he'd ever gotten on with. He wore his wedding clothes in battle, and sheathed two daggers- one on each hip. A wedding ring donned his right hand; a reminder of those he lost on the most important day of his life. His feeble shoulders hung weakly on the rest of his otherwise nimble body, and his deft hands each held two branches from the Alienage tree, which he kept with him always. A present from his Adaia, Darrian wore his mother's boots, to remind him of what he had lost, and what he was fighting for.

Daylen Surana stood slightly hunched as he clung onto his staff. His circle robes were bloodied heavily, and his battle wounds were being tended to by Solona Amell, his fellow circle student, who happened to be an amazing spirit healer. Daylen, unlike Solona, was an elf. Taken from Lyna's Dalish clan as a child, Daylen too, bore blood writing on his face. The dark skin on his forehead was brandished with a silver tattoo, forming the mark of The Dread Wolf. He had jet black, scruffy hair, which fell all over his face, hiding two opalescent eyes. Despite leaving the circle, Daylen still wore his circle robes proudly. He did not remember the Dalish clan, nor did he want to. He had decided that, when he was four, if his people wanted him, they would come. They did not. It was only until he joined the wardens and met Lyna that he realised that his bitterness was without purpose. His clan's Keeper even apologised to him formally, and offered him a permanent place as First, as Merill was already showing signs of disobidence. But Lo! He would not leave his cause. _Never _would he leave his cause. The Wardens were family now.

Solana Amell gently applied a cooling poultice to Daylen's burning wound. She was, in fact, quite the opposite to her Elven counter-part. Where he was brash and ambitious, Solana was soothing and happy to be a valuble, if weak, member of the Wardens. She, like Lyna, had aged before her time; her blonde hair contained the old grey one, and she had obvious crows feet from sheer worry for her adopted family. Hair resting on her shoulders, and thick eyelashed around her crystal blue eyes, she was dubbed by her mentor, Wynne, as the prettiest apprentice she'd ever taught. Though her frame and appearance would fool even the top scholar's, Solana was one of the smartest mages to ever go through the circle doors. She kept a profile on everything, everyone and everywhere she saw, met or went in an old book that her parent's gave to her. She was alone, too. Her mother died when she was but a babe, and her father spent everything on hiding her from the Templar's. However, her father passed away when she was nearing eleven, and the templar's soon found her when she was forced to live in the Chantry. Resting beside her, was an oak branch, full of lyrium, and made into a staff. Unlike Daylen, she had discarded her circle robes as soon as she heard that her best friend, Jowan, was to be sentenced. Aside from Daylen, Jowan was her only link back to the circle; with that severed, she felt the need to put on Tevinter Mage robes- even if this meant being branded as an apostate by those who didn't know her true rank.

Natalia Brosca, a heavy-breasted, dwarven woman stood with her arms folded across her chest, and a bloodided axe in one hand. She was short, even for a dwarf, and very poor. Naturally poor- genetically poor. Back in Orzammar, Natalia was castless. A natural born criminal. Yes, she may have worked for the Carta, but only because she _had _to. Her sister, Rica, was consort to Prince Behlen, Duran Aeducan's brother. Natalia had furious red hair, which was combed into two bunches on either side of her head, just below her ears. She had a round nose, which crinkled when she was angry, or in battle. She had very dark blue eyes, and a square, 'z' shaped brand on her left cheek. Her stubby legs were brandished with bruises from wrestling with various qunari, dwarves and mabari. Her mucky face was only kept neat on her lips, where she regularly smeared red war paint over. She, true to her roots, wore leather duster armor, and get her dwarven waraxe from the day she was left in jail.

Duran Aeducan stood next to Natalia, as if posing for a picture, and rested his arm on her waist. He had ruffled, brown hair, and tanned skin. No tattoo was on his face, being born of royal blood, but on his arm was a tattoo of a mabari war hound. He wore heavy, silverite armour, and carried the shield of his family. He, like most dwarves, had a large nose, and dark eyes. As an Exile, he was no longer welcome in Orzammar. But now? He was a grey warden, and so pleased to be so. Without the Wardens, he would not have met his fiance, Nataila- and he would never have been able to speak to her if he was still Prince Aeducan. Duran's face was fixed in a permanent grin, unlike his fiance, who was constantly scowling at the world, as if she had a bad smell under her nose.

Elissa Cousland, and her twin, Aedan Cousland stood side by side, their hound, Hugo, sat between them. Elissa's hair was a fiery ginger, and pulled into a taut ponytail. Aedan's hair was also ginger, and cut to his chin, with a single braid through it. Both had round eyes, with very grey iris'. Elissa stood a foot shorter than Aedan, and was certainly more agile on the battle field. Her nimble frame meant that it was easy to dart across the battlefield, and backstab enemies with ease. Aedan, however, prefered to use mauls and hammers and smash his foe's up instead.

Hugo, a powerful mabari war hound, sat wagging his tail on Elissa's foot. Fiercely loyal to the Cousland twins, Hugo was possibly the most important member of the Origins clan. Saving countless lives in Lothering, Redcliffe and the Final Battle in Denerim, he was knighted- Ser Hugo Cousland.

Elissa's perfectly petite body matched her chiseled face and features; her cheek bones were prominent and firm, her nose was small yet pointed, and her round eyes shone in the dark, like a cat in the night. Her ginger ponytail was short and cropped, outlining her pale face even more. Her nimble hands each held a jewel encrusted dagger as a present from her late father. Despite never using it, Elissa carried the Cousland family sword on her back, partly as a reminder of her lost family, partly as a warning- she was a Cousland; ruthless and political, smart and dangerous, on and off the battle field.

Aedan stood proudly, holding his maul in one of his burly hands. He was slightly less pale than his sister, though his steely grey eyes didn't help his case. With a stern stare like his mother, and sense of humour like his brother and father, Aedan would have been the perfect merchant. Though barely escaping with his sister and Duncan a whole year ago, Aedan would never forget the breathtaking sacrifice his mother and father made to get him to safety. Not only that, he, along with Fergus and Elissa, would mourn the deaths of the rest of his castle, including his best friend, Ser Gilmore. Unlike his quick-witted sister, Aedan had no interest in politics, and left that to his Lady Wife, Anora Mac Tyr.

Anora, a formidable young woman, stood grasping her husband's hand. Her blonde hair plaitted and in perfect place, and her fixed scowl glaring at Elissa, Anora looked the perfect queen. She wore a wedding band of pure silver on her left hand, and a gifted necklace of silver and emeralds around her neck. Aedan spent no expense to make his wife feel spoiled. After King Calian left Anora widowed, she was heartbroken- quite rightly so- and found it very hard to accept Aedan's sudden proposal. Suggested by her sister-in-law, Anora took her fair time to ponder upon her possible engagement. Elissa, after thinking for a while herself, asked Aedan to propose to Anora for political terms, as Alistair had done the same to her a week before leaving to fight the archdemon. Anora, though skeptical, reluctantly (or so she insisited) accepted, claiming that, although she was not of Theirin blood, she did a much better job of running the country than Calian ever did. Aedan, Elissa and Alistair were all happy to rule jointly, however puzzling. Queen Anora, after months on the throne with Aedan, Anora finally confessed her love for the Cousland. Slightly taken aback, it took Aedan another six months to consent to the consumation of their marriage. He did not plan on falling in love with a Queen, nor did he want to, but after months of pondering, he was glad he did. Everyone that spent even five minutes with him could tell he was far happier than he ever had been after the tragic death's of everyone he knew.

Standing awkwardly next to Elissa, was Alistair Theirin. A handsome man, with a chopped head of golden blonde hair stood next to his Princess Consort. He'd often glance warily at Elissa's 'unnessecary' weaponary in court, though he was never brave enough to stand up to his wife. The light in his eyes went when Duncan died, but shortly after giving Elissa the rose from Lothering (which she kept on her. always) and hearing her affirm her love, it slowly dripped back. Shortly after the Landsmeet, Alistair swept Elissa off to one side in Arl Eamon's study, and asked for her hand. Playing the fool, she offered to cut off her own hand for him, though this only reassured Alistair that yes, the cold hearted bitch really _would_ do something for him. Sweeping him into a bind-blowing kiss- their first- Elissa said yes. Alistair offeredto take the rose and turn it into a ring with the help of Solana, but Elissa refused. Too proud to give back a gift, Elissa dried it, and kept it in a small pouch on her right hip. He took the Cousland family shield for Elissa, and was happy to. Proudly wearing his wife's coat of arms may seem like a weird thing to do, but it was one of the things she had fallen in love with. Aside their shared love for cheeses.


End file.
